


Confessions

by niblets



Series: When It Feels Like This (Iloristair) [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Love Confessions, Touch-Starved, and also to express herself when words fail her, and poor touch-starved alistair, ilora using touch to answer questions she doesn't know how to ask, yes hi it's me again i still don't know how to fuckin tag anything :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24149614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niblets/pseuds/niblets
Summary: "Ilora," Alistair starts, suddenly fearing he'd put her in an uncomfortable position, wishing to backtrack."Hush," She says, and he's startled by how breathless she sounds. She worries her lip between her teeth for a moment - Alistair tries to pretend he doesn't notice, but swallows again anyway - before a thought seems to occur to her and she drops her gaze to where her fingers are still pressed against his wrist. When she looks up at him again, there's a small smile on her face... Delicate.. nervous. His heart flips in his chest.In which Alistair fumbles his way through a confession and Ilora lets her heart do the talking.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Mahariel (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Ilora/Alistair
Series: When It Feels Like This (Iloristair) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733440
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Confessions

"So, all this time we've spent together-" Alistair begins, and his voice breaks with nerves on the last word. Either Ilora doesn't notice or chooses not to acknowledge it, gaze turned downward as she fidgets with her hair. It's been nearly a month since she cut it all off, the ends just barely beginning to brush her shoulders, but she's clearly still not used to it. She touches it constantly, as though she needs to remind herself that the length is gone. Now, she's focused on a small braid around her hairline, apparently annoyed with how it's made a point of falling into her eyes this evening. He is struck, yet again, by the way his heart swells at the beauty of her and he nervously clears his throat, continuing on, grasping at humor to try and cope.

"You know- the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us... Will you miss it once, it's over?"

  
The look Ilora gives him is a strange one. Eyebrow arched, a small curl to her lip like she was prepared to reply with something witty, but... Well, she must have seen something in his face that made her think better of it. She regards him for a long moment, tilting her head slightly, pursing her lips the way he knew she did when she was thinking. 

  
Just when he's considering asking if he's grown a second head or if there's something in his teeth, she turns back to her hair, fingers deftly finishing the braid as she says, "There will always be more battles to fight somehwere."

  
_Ah_. 

  
He watches as she fishes for the leather cord for tying her hair among her things. He sees it hiding beneath her satchel and, after watching her search in vain for a moment longer, reaches down to retrieve it for her. The small smile she gives him when he holds it out to her steels his nerves enough to speak again, even after her fingertips brush against his and leave the heat of sunbursts in their wake.

  
Alistair is suddenly struck with an unbearable feeling that if he doesn't say it now, he'll never get the chance again and he'll regret it as long as he lived. They're alone, for what feels like the first time since all of this began. Zevran had taken Fenlen, Ilora's mabari, on a patrol in the surrounding woods, the rest of the camp fast asleep in their tents and Ilora sits beside him, fingers working through the last of her braid. She's completely at ease, out of her armor, relaxed in nothing but her tunic and breeches. A picture of calm, bathed in the light of the campfire. Perhaps that is why the words begin to spill out of his mouth before he has a chance to truly consider them.

  
"But that doesn't mean we would necessarily be fighting them... _together_."

  
He doesn't miss the way her fingers fumble with the cording when she hears the emphasis on the word, usually so deft and sure of themselves. And he certainly doesn't miss the glance she throws his way, or the slow creep of color across her cheeks when their eyes meet before she quickly looks away, suddenly very focused on tying her hair properly.

  
There's a long moment of silence, during which Ilora says something in Elven under her breath and unravels the tie, apparently displeased with how it was done the first time, and Alistair feels a sense of calm wash over him at seeing the veneer of calm and collected she usually wears falling away. Perhaps... Perhaps, there was something to this.

"I know it... might sound strange," He continues, and his voice seems to break through the silence like thunder, but he presses on, hoping his courage lasts long enough to get him through this. 

  
"Considering we haven't known each other very long, but I've come to... Care.." He pauses, watching her as closely as he can, but she's turned her face from him and he can't see what kind of expression she wears.

  
"For you." Another pause, and the silence drags on. He can almost convince himself he sees the tip of her ear turning red, but then again, it's dark, and the only light he has to go on is the flicker of the campfire and the dim moonlight over head.

  
"A great deal..." He continues, and he watches her hands drop to her lap, apparently finished with their task of tying her hair away, but she still doesn't turn to look at him and his heart starts to sink. 

  
"I think maybe it's because we've gone through so much together, I don't know." He says quickly, as though trying to justify this sudden confession, nerves taking over. "Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself."

  
The silence from her now is nearly unbearable, and when he speaks again, Ilora's spine straightens in response to the words, almost immediately.

  
"Am I? Fooling myself?" He swallows, throat dry, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him instead. "Or do you think you might ever... feel the same way.. about me?"

  
The silence that follows would be deafening, if it weren't for the thundering in his chest, rattling his ribs and shaking his resolve. He shouldn't have said anything. He should have just kept it to himself, dealt with it with thinly veiled humor like he did everything else in his life. But she... _She_...

  
Ilora's looking at him now, light of the fire dancing in her eyes as she regards him, almost cautiously, over the curve of her shoulder, bare and golden and painted with freckles. His throat goes dry again at the thought of kissing the skin there the way the sun has. The small delicate braid she's finished is tucked behind her ear and he wants, desperately, to reach out and touch it. To touch _her_.

  
He doesn't notice her moving until he feels her fingers against the inside of his wrist, pressed against his pulse, featherlight, and the hammering of his heart suddenly feels like it saying more than his words ever could. Ilora tilts her head again and he watches as her brows draw together, as though she's uncertain of something, weighing options, considering outcomes. Suddenly, he's all too keenly reminded of her role as hunter among her Clan, and he feels as though he's made himself into some kind of prey she's never tracked before. 

  
When she moves again, she's turning to face him more directly now, on her knees, legs tucked beneath her. She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again and frowns, apparently uncertain of her words.

  
"Ilora," Alistair starts, suddenly fearing he'd put her in an uncomfortable position, wishing to backtrack.

  
" _Hush_ ," She says, and he's startled by how breathless she sounds. She worries her lip between her teeth for a moment - Alistair tries to pretend he doesn't notice, but swallows again anyway - before a thought seems to occur to her and she drops her gaze to where her fingers are still pressed against his wrist. When she looks up at him again, there's a small smile on her face... Delicate.. _nervous_. His heart flips in his chest.

  
"Here," Ilora releases his wrist and he looks down to see her turning her palm over, guiding his fingers to rest against her pulse the way his had just moments before. 

  
The point of the action speaks to him in multitudes before the actual results of it do. 

  
Alistair liked to make jokes about being raised by mabari and sleeping in kennels before being shipped off to the Chantry as soon as he was old enough, but it wasn't as though it wasn't true... He wasn't exactly accustomed to physical cloesness, never raised with affection from caretakers before being passed to the strict Chantry Sisters and raised by the Chant of Light instead. 

  
But, Ilora? Well.. things were obviously different within Dalish clans. 

  
For as long as he's known her, Ilora's never been one to let words escape her... But when words do fail her, or she can't find a way to properly express the things she wants to say, she lets her actions speak for themselves. Expressing herself with touch, rather than spoken language. Usually, with Zevran, or Leliana and Morrigan. A bump of her forehead against Zevran's shoulder when he makes her laugh. A hand on Leliana's arm as she spins one of her bard's tales or sings a Chantry hymn for the camp. On a couple of occassions, during idle conversation on the road, he's found her leaning into him as they walk, arms pressed together, usually when conversation turns to difficult things. Talk of Duncan.. and Tamlen... Worries about the road ahead... The weight of the responsibility of their mission. 

  
But now... a touch as simple as this, guiding him to touch her... to feel the beating of her heart as she had his just moments before... He knows what she's trying to say even before he feels her pulse beneath his fingertips. Fluttering, nervous, like a hummingbird in flight, pumping out a rhythm that seems to mirror his own. 

  
When he looks up at her again, she's leaning forward, attempting to study his down-turned face, chewing her lip nervously again.

  
"Do you understand?" Her voice is as soft and vulnerable as he has ever heard it, and he feels his heart clench painfully in his chest, watching as her eyes roam his face, studying him, looking as though she's attempting to read his thoughts. His lips part to release a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and her gaze immediately drops to the movement, lingering a moment too long before it slowly drifts upward and she's looking into his eyes again.

  
"I already do, Alistair." 

  
He feels as though he's soaring. The only thing grounding him now is this moment, Ilora's pulse still fluttering beneath his touch, the look in her eyes, the slowly growing smile on her lips.   
His free hand seems to move of it's own accord, lifting, desperate to touch her face, and he's suddenly reminded of the first time he'd done so. In her tent, after waking her from her nightmares, what felt like ages ago, compared to now. He'd been unable to resist the urge then, and she'd flinched away as though his fingers had been ice. The memory is enough to give him pause and his fingers linger midair, suddenly unsure of himself.

  
Ilora seems to notice his hesitation and, Andraste preserve him, tilts her head to lean into his touch, eyes sliding closed. Her cheek is warm, soft, and when he strokes it gently with the pad of his thumb, Ilora hums a noise of such contentment that Alistair swears his heart will leap from chest any moment. The Maker could strike him down now and he would die a happy man. 

  
"Ilora," He mutters, voice hushed, suddenly afraid of shattering this moment. She hums again and opens her eyes to look at him, lips curled into a small smile, and he thinks the sight alone could be enough to bring him to tears.

  
"Can I-"

  
"If you're about to _ask_ if you can kiss me," Ilora says, a mischevious glint in her eye, all uncertainty in her posture gone, suddenly sure of herself in such a way that Alistair's head spins. 

  
She puts a hand on Alistair's knee and leans so close that he can practically hear the rapping of Sister Margaret's cane before it's drowned out by the low tones of Ilora's voice and he can feel her breath on his lips. "Then I obviously have _not_ made myself clear."

  
Ilora tilts her head, just so, and the brush of her lips against his sends warmth racing through his veins. He hears himself gasp and when she pulls away, only just enough that he can focus on her expression, she's smiling, cheeks rosy, a quiet laugh falling from her lips, and she is so, _so_ beautiful.

  
He surges forward, perhaps more eagerly than he should, and captures Ilora's lips in a kiss so fierce she makes a quiet noise of surprise against his before melting into him, fingers pressed into his knee. When he releases her wrist in favor of reaching up to cup both sides of her jaw in his hands, her free fingers make quick work of burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck.

  
The moment seems to go on forever, while also not lasting nearly enough, and when they finally part, both breathless, Alistair finds that Ilora is in his lap, pressed so close that the only thing between them is thin tunics and warmth. Her arms are draped about his neck and she's smiling down at him, fingers curling around the fabric of his tunic against his back. Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair frames her face in such a way that the green of her eyes seems to glow in the low light of the campfire.

  
"Maker's breath," Alistair sighs, and Ilora's smile widens. "I am a lucky man."

  
Ilora hums again and it sounds more like true home than anything Alistair's ever heard, especially when she lifts her chin and presses a soft, affectionate kiss against his forehead, right between his brows.   
The sound of clapping broke the quiet moment between them and then both startled, turning immediately to the source of the noise.

  
Zevran stood at the edge of camp, across the campfire to them, a smug smile on his face as he applauded them.

  
"Finally, my friends. Finally!" He walked into the camp, Fenlen at his heels. He clapped Ilora on the shoulder as he passed, which only earned him a bout of laughter and a swat on the rear. "Leliana will not be pleased to hear she owes me ten sovereigns in the morning, but I knew it was just a matter of time!"

  
The two of them were then nearly bowled over together with the full weight of an overjoyed mabari crashing into them, desperate for the praises of his master about his patrol. Alistair clutched Ilora around the waist and she laughed again, cooing at Fenlen for a job well done.

  
"Think of it this way, _'ma 'nehn_." Ilora murmured, smiling at him as she dodged one exuberant lick after another. Alistair made a mental note to ask what she had said later, but knew it felt like a term of endearment, based on the tone of her voice. 

  
"At least we don't have to worry about telling everyone."

  
He must have looked confused, because she smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek.

  
"Zevran will surely take care of that for us."

**Author's Note:**

> 'ma 'nehn = "my joy/happiness"
> 
> that is assuming, however, that i have ANY kind of understanding of the elven language and how it works- which is, honestly, a LOT to assume. shame on you.
> 
> hi. its me again. did i ever finish that drawing from the last fic? no. will i? who knows. but i started writing this as a second chapter to the last fic and then realized it wasn't quite right, so it became something of its own i guess lmao.


End file.
